


Ravenel

by Josselin



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 07:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13565520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin
Summary: “Kyros,” Laurent said. “Welcome to Ravenel. I see you received my message.” He spoke Akielon.“I did,” said Nikandros. “You said you had proof of Kastor colluding in the death of our prince?”





	Ravenel

The plan had taken shape over a map. They had retreated from Laurent’s chambers and the mess of the table that had been upended in their fight. Ravenel’s servants had quietly went in to clean up the evidence of their fight, and Damen and Laurent had taken over a side chamber with a window where they simply had a map spread out on the table. It was the same map they had been using all along, from when Laurent had first said, “You said you know the territory” when they stayed awake all night in Aquitart. They had looked at this map in Aquitart and in tents all along the border. 

Light fell from the tiny window in this chamber on the map on the table, highlighting the map with the shape of distorted arrow slits. There was a shape of light falling on a portion of Kempt, and then another one falling on Damen’s home in Ios. Damen had noticed weeks ago that the shape of Ios was drawn incorrectly, probably sketched by some Veretian merchant who had never been there and only heard of the area from trading contacts.

He didn’t look at Ios now. He had promised Laurent at least three more days, and he focused his attention on the border.

“Fortaine will be the launching point for troops,” Damen said. “The strongest move you could make right now would be to take Fortaine. It gives access to a port, and will allow you to launch a Northern campaign.”

Laurent inspected the map, tilting his head to the side. “Can we take Fortaine?” he said.

Damen had seen Fortaine touring the border of Akielos with his father, and so he knew, from a distance, the scale of the towers perched on the top of a hill. Fortaine and Ravenel had both seemed impregnable, from the border, beyond Theomedes’s ability to continue his previous campaign into Vere. 

“Perhaps,” Damen said. He would have said no, except he was thinking of how Laurent had managed to take Ravenel with a type of trick that would have never occurred to Damen himself. There might be some trick that could take Fortaine, but it Fortaine would not be taken with the type of warfware that Damen had trained in, with the strength of men and siege engines pitted against the depth of Fortaine’s walls. His doubt bled through in the tone of his voice as he spoke.

“We took Ravenel,” said Laurent, gesturing with a casual wrist to the walls that surrounded them.

“We did,” said Damen, eyeing the river a few miles east of Fortaine on the map. 

“Would we be able to take Fortaine if we had reinforcements?” said Laurent.

Damen looked at Laurent closely, bent over the map. His hair fell forward slightly and covered a portion of his face, the red portion. Damen supposed that by tomorrow it would blossom into a bruise. Laurent did not meet his eyes, looking intently at the parchment. 

“Reinforcements?” said Damen. 

Laurent pointed at the plains that surrounded Fortaine on three sides. “Say, one portion of the force approached from here, and the other from the west.”

“Yes,” said Damen, “that would work.” He lifted his head again to look at Laurent. Laurent was still not meeting his gaze, now looking out the tiny window at the horizon. Damen waited. After a long moment of silence, Damen prompted, “Reinforcements?”

Laurent turned away from the window and looked at Damen at last. He walked across the room and the click of his boot heels against the stone echoed. He stood very close, leaning one of his hips against the heavy wooden table and tilting his head back to look at Damen.

Damen took a shallow breath. 

Laurent reached out a hand and let it hover over Damen’s chest for a moment, waiting, and then lowered it to rest against Damen. Damen could feel it through his jacket, he felt it more intently than the light pressure merited. The arrowslit of light from the window fell now on laurent’s shoulder and caught in the gleam of his golden hair. The red on his face from where Damen had struck him earlier was visible now. Damen thought of apologizing for it, and yet the tone of Laurent’s voice when he had said “I am glad they are dead” still echoed in his head.

Laurent opened his mouth slightly, but he did not offer an explanation of his talk of reinforcements. “We will speak of it tomorrow,” he said. 

Damen eyed the window and the height of the sun. “They will be serving the evening meal soon.”

“I am not hungry.” He wouldn’t have eaten all day, having left the bed they had shared early enough to slip away on a ride, and then having been interrupted by one thing after another -- the messenger from his uncle, Aimeric’s death, the orders to prepare the keep for war. The food in his chambers where Laurent had retreated to think had been untouched when Damen had punched him and it had spilled all over the floor. 

Laurent leaned in closer, and Damen found his thoughts drawn away from food. 

“Kiss me,” Laurent said, and Damen was helpless to obey. He leaned down and met Laurent’s lips gently, reaching up one hand to cup around Laurent’s neck and position the two of them comfortably. Damen kissed Laurent a second time, and brushed against the cut in Laurent’s lip and Laurent hissed. 

“I’m--”

Laurent quieted him and reached his own hands up to pull Damen down and kiss him again, more firmly than Damen’s own attempts. 

Laurent’s hands tugged at Damen’s neck, and then Damen understood what he wanted, and he lifted Laurent up to sit on the table, and they were of a height to continue kissing. Laurent leaned in. 

The kisses were slow and chaste, close lipped and tender. The talk of Fortaine still lingered heavily in the room. It seemed an age since that morning when Laurent had pushed him back down in the bed. Damen imagined Laurent now, spread out across the map, his body covering the territory instead of the tiny figures of soldiers and horses they sometimes moved. 

Laurent had different notions, because he led Damen from the map room back to his chambers. 

Jord was hovering in the hallway as they approached. “Your highness,” Jord said to Laurent, casting an uneasy glance at Damen a step behind him. 

“We are not going to ride out today,” said Laurent. “You may have the men stand down until tomorrow.”

Jord nodded, but persisted beyond Laurent’s order. “Could we speak privately, your highness?”

“Not now,” Laurent said. 

Jord met Damen’s eyes significantly, but he said nothing further, and the door to Laurent’s chambers closed with Damen inside and Jord still in the hallway.

Servants had cleared the fallen food and dishes, and the room was back to rights, as though they hadn’t argued there only a few hours before. Nicaise’s earring was nowhere to be seen. 

Laurent began unlacing his jacket. Damen stood near the door. 

“Well,” Laurent said, gesturing at the laces that ran up his jacket that he couldn’t reach. Damen walked slowly across the room and began to loosen the laces slowly. 

“There is something I should tell you,” Damen said.

Laurent waved a hand dismissively, and turned so Damen could unlace his other side.

“I--” said Damen.

“Three days,” Laurent said. “You promised me three days.”

“Yes.” 

“So,” Laurent said, “You are mine for three days.” His jacket loosened, he was able to shrug it off, and it fell to the floor. “I am done with talking for today,” said Laurent. He took one of Damen’s hands and drew it to the laces on his trousers. “Find a better use for your mouth.”

Damen slept more soundly their second night together. The sleeplessness of the previous night, the events of the day, their exertions before bed all combined to lead him to a deep sleep curled against the warmth of Laurent next to him. 

In the morning, Damen again awoke alone. His stomach rumbled, and he went down to the kitchen to sate his hunger, and then he climbed up to the battlements. The sun had risen warm, in true southern weather. It felt good on Damen’s skin. 

He looked south. He might have been a day’s ride that direction this morning, he supposed, if he had left a few minutes earlier, or departed even after the Regent’s messenger returned. It was better to be on top of the walls of Ravenel, though, than the uncertainty that awaited him when he turned that direction. Ravenel and the Veretian troops busying themselves in the courtyard and in the barracks were a sign of their victory against the Regent. The southern horizon held only the mystery of how Damen was going to confront his brother.

Then, Damen saw the haze on the horizon. It was red. He watched it for a few moments, and riders emerged from the haze ahead of the rest. Their scouts, he realized, galloping back to the keep.

The lookouts on the battlements had spotted the scouts and the haze as well, and were shouting down to the courtyard, and the general preparations for the day were now a buzz of activity. 

Damen kept his eyes on the march. He recognized it. He and Laurent had ridden far out of their way to avoid the Akielon troops, which had been nearer than Laurent had expected. These were Nikandros’s men. Damen had ridden at their head before, had inspected them on tours of the border with his father, had smiled at Nikandros when Nikandros had stood solemnly accepting Theomedes’s praise.

He turned from his perch looking out at the top of the wall and walked back along the battlements to the stairs, and then waited for several of the men swarming up the stairs to finish climbing up before taking his turn on the narrow staircase and walking quickly down to the courtyard. 

Damen emerged in the courtyard at the same time as the scouts, and the runner spotted Damen and ran up to him. “Captain, I’m to give this to the commander,” he said, pressing something small into Damen’s hand. 

Damen looked down at it, turning the piece of metal over in his hand. It was Laurent’s signet ring. The starburst sapphire glinted in the sunlight. 

Guymar came up to Damen with a report, all of the words Damen expected from a career soldier. He had men in stations on the battlements, he had the updates from all of the scouts on the number of approaching Akielons. The words washed over Damen, but his eyes were scanning the courtyard looking for Laurent.

“Where is the prince?” said Damen, and Guymar was about to send someone to find him, when Laurent emerged from the keep on the steps. 

Guymar and Damen walked over to him. Damen stood two steps below Laurent and looked up and realized that Laurent’s eyes were the same color as the sapphire he held in his hand. Guymar gave Laurent an update. “Sire, Akielons are marching on the fort. Defenses will hold--”

Damen raised his hand holding the ring toward Laurent, who turned his attention from Guymar to Damen. 

Laurent made no move to reach for the ring, but he nodded his acknowledgement of what it meant. “Open the gates.”

Guymar’s eyebrows raised, and he looked from Laurent to Damen briefly, and then Guymar nodded, and gave the order. 

Damen needed to get out of here. He took another step up toward the keep, closer to Laurent. “Laurent,” he said quietly. “I need to--”

Laurent turned toward Damen and met his eyes. “Trust me,” said Laurent. He reached for Damen’s hand and covered it for a moment, then let go and spoke to Guymar yet again. Damen’s hand felt cold without the pressure of Laurent’s against it, and he closed his fingers tight around the signet ring. 

The Akielons were able to march into the keep four abreast, and once within, the arranged themselves in careful rows in the space not occupied by the residents of the keep or Laurent’s men. Damen watched. It should have felt more familiar, seeing them. He should have recognized their clothing, their weapons, their sandals, and yet it felt foreign to him now. 

A horn sounded, echoing sonorously off the stone walls of the courtyard, and the Akielons stopped in their formation, standing at attention and leaving the courtyard suddenly quieter than it had been before.

The Akielon leader had dismounted, and held out the reins to his horse to one of the men. He approached the steps. Damen had to press his lips together to avoid calling out to his childhood friend. His eyes were intent on Nikandros, but Nikandros’s eyes were intent on Laurent, who was regal and clearly in charge at the top of the steps, even in plain riding clothes and without any type of circlet.

Nikandros knew as well as Damen that it was the Veretian custom for the guest to approach the host; they had learned it from the same tutor as boys. Nikandros kept his eyes on Laurent as he climbed the steps, and then at the top of the steps, he stopped and bowed just low enough to be appropriate for a foreign prince and no more. 

“Kyros,” Laurent said. “Welcome to Ravenel. I see you received my message.” He spoke Akielon.

“I did,” said Nikandros. “You said you had proof of Kastor colluding in the death of our prince?”

“You are direct,” said Laurent. “Are all of your countrymen so?” 

Nikandros did not know exactly what Laurent meant by that, and it showed on his face. Damen, who had the advantage of longer experience with Laurent, still did not know exactly where Laurent was going.

Laurent continued. “Let me introduce you--” he gestured toward where Damen was standing a few feet behind him. Damen felt frozen, like an animal being hunted and too terrified even to bolt and run. Laurent was still speaking. “--To my lover, your rightful king.”

Nikandros’s eyes were on Damen now, led by Laurent’s gesture and then opening wider at Laurent’s words. Damen was almost as shocked at Laurent’s introduction, looking away from his friend’s surprise to Laurent, who was cool and collected. Laurent’s earlier words echoed in Damen’s head. Trust me, Laurent had said.

Damen could feel Nikandros inspecting him. Damen was dressed in Veretian clothes laced up to his neck, wearing Veretian boots, and his hair had even been cut in a Veretian style. “Old friend,” Damen said, also speaking Akielon. “It is good to see you again.” 

Nikandros’s face showed his shock. “It is not possible,” he said, his eyes still wide on Damen. He looked back to Laurent, and then again at Damen. “Damianos,” he said, dropping to his knees. 

Nikandros’s recognition was being echoed by other Akielons in the courtyard, who followed suit in going to their knees, and Laurent’s men were looking amongst themselves in surprise at hearing Laurent’s words of introduction of his slave and captain. Keeping the rightful king of Akielos a secret in disguise? Conspiring with Akielos? Laurent’s reputation at trickery and deception was ever increasing.

Damen walked forward to Nikandros and took his friend’s hands and pulled him to stand again. “Rise,” he said. “Old friend,” he said again, and then he pulled Nikandros into an embrace.

Nikandros held him tightly. “Damianos,” he said again, still sounding amazed. “You are alive. Nothing is as I thought.”

Laurent allowed them a moment of emotional reunion before clearing his throat and drawing their attention back to himself. “It seems that we have some interests in common. I would like to suggest an alliance.”

**Author's Note:**

> [All of the author's Captive Prince fanfic](http://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=kudos_count&work_search%5Bfandom_ids%5D%5B%5D=3516977&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=0&user_id=Josselin), [come follow me on tumblr](http://josselinkohl.tumblr.com/)


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